“Goddamn,” Bolt shouts. “Fuckin’ squirt me, babe.” Then he howls like a wolf in the wild.
He kicks my legs farther apart, then braces his palms on the back of the couch, drilling me relentlessly. He keeps going until my body explodes again. I just experienced what I always thought was a myth. Something made-up to drive women crazy—until now.
I collapse over the couch. Mindless, exposed, with complete abandon. Still leaking, spent, with not one brain cell functioning.
His hips slow to a rhythmic motion, then still. I lean up,but he pushes me down against the couch. When he pulls out, an emptiness engulfs me.
I hear him zip up, then his heavy boots thud against the wood floor. I lean up on my elbows, slowly straighten my spine, and when I turn from the couch, he’s gone.
BOLT
I let my long legs carry me out of the living room, then I slam into my bedroom before I have a chance to second-guess myself, look at her face, or spit out words that will make her think I’ve forgiven her.
What just happened was me taking my fill, getting what I wanted from a bitch who double-crossed me, and showing her she was nothing more than a hot hole for me to dump my load. She lied, set me up, used me—doing all the shit plenty of other women pulled on me over the years—but no more.
I took what I wanted, what I needed, and now it’s over. We’d get the job done at the country club, call her father out, and then she could do whatever the fuck she wanted. Stay in Tijuana, go back to the States—I don’t give a fuck.
I lay my cut over the chair, then look down at my wet jeans. I got her to fuckin’ squirt. I always thought that was some made-up bullshit, but I got proof it ain’t—all over me. She not only got off, she soaked me with her juices.
I rip off the rest of my clothes, letting them fall where they land. My eyes travel across the room to the bottom drawer of my dresser. Fuckin’ unbelievable, but I should’ve searched the apartment like Smoke said. Again, I was sucked in by pussy. Sucked in by another woman who used me.
I should shower, but I can’t chance seeing her again tonight. I’m too fuckin’ weak, and if I look into those soulful eyes of hers, I’m a goner.
I drag on a pair of sweatpants and flop down on the bed. Falling asleep easily and I never mix well. Even though it’salmost four in the morning, I’m wired like I just sucked up five lines of coke.
My brain does a slow-motion replay of the night from the time Diesel showed me the knife, stopping at the scared-as-shit look in Nicoletta’s eyes when she had a gun pressed to her head. I can still hear my heart pounding at just the thought of that asshole pulling the trigger.
Now to top off an already fucked-up night, I have her scent all over me while I lay straining to hear every move she makes in the next room. Hell yeah, it’s gonna be a long damn night.
NICOLETTA
I retrieve my clothes from the floor and drag myself to the couch, but I don’t sit. Even though I’m exhausted, I can’t do anything until I shower, since I drenched myself and Bolt with whatever the hell just happened.
I root around in my bag, come up with my toiletries and head for the bathroom. Thankfully, the light under Bolt’s room is off, and I can only guess he’s already asleep. The man managed once again to bring me to a place I’ve never experienced and holy shit, but I couldn’t wait to return.
I didn’t even care if he never talked to me again as long as he did whatever that was over and over.
CHAPTER 12
BOLT
The next day, I’m up again before Nicoletta. Probably better that way. What do you say after finding out she conned me, then I save her, and for a grand finale, we have out-of-control monkey sex. Using each other—fucking each other, both expelling demons, and making no excuses.
I have no idea what that woman does to me, but she sure as shit does it in a big way. Hopefully, the drive up to Imperial Beach will clear my head, or at least get rid of the twitching in my gut. I make a quick stop at the cafe on the corner, then meet the other brothers in the back lot of The Tropics.
“This should go down easy.” Smoke leans against his bike. “Paulie says he’s got all the proof we need on video to take those suits down, but he wants us to see what’s going on firsthand.”
We all nod, mount up, wheel out of the lot and head north. The ride helps me rid some of the cobwebs in my brain.
A half-hour later, we pull into the lot of the Surf Club. I haven’t been up here in a while, but it still looks as shitty as ever—one of the main reasons this place was perfect for storing guns andcontraband. No normal person would dare venture inside, and if they did, they’d regret it. Any night of the week could have a stabbing, shooting, or a flat-out murder. This place makes the dump where I picked up Nicoletta look like the best club in Vegas.
Blood, Diesel and I dismount and surround Smoke.
“Remember, we’re not here to start any bullshit,” Smoke says. “I just wanna download the surveillance footage and look at whatever Paulie keeps telling me is so important. Then I wanna set up a new schedule for the gun storage and deliveries.”
“What the fuck you think he wants to show us?” Diesel asks.
“That’s what we’re here to find out.” Smoke jerks his chin toward the back door, and we follow him in.
